


Loveless

by JestersTear



Series: Boundless [1]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Dubious Consent, Fluff, Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, Kink Meme, M/M, Mind Games, Mindfuck, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Rape/Non-con References, Rimming, Romance, Series:Boundless, Slavery, kmeme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-23
Updated: 2012-03-23
Packaged: 2017-11-02 09:53:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/367705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JestersTear/pseuds/JestersTear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reply to a prompt in the Dragon Age Kink Meme: Fenris is hit by a spell in battle that forces him to relive the way Danarius used him sexually. His body acts as it did back then, orgasming on demand. When Fenris wakes up the battle is over and Anders won't stop mocking for having taken a break right in the middle of it to come in his leggings. Eventually Fenris snaps and Anders realises what it is he's been mocking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This was the original kmeme prompt:
> 
> _A kind of cruel idea inspired by the "relive a bad memory" spell prompts:_
> 
> _Fenris is hit with such a spell in combat, and is forced to relive a memory of being used sexually by Danarius. He of course hates it and is mentally screaming the entire time, but back in the waking world, his body is responding the way it was trained to, the way memory!Fenris responded at the time: getting aroused, writhing attractively, coming when Danarius commands him to in the dream, etc._
> 
> _When it wears off and he wakes up, angry, hurting, depressed, and ashamed, Anders is quick to snidely rub his face in the fact that he just took a break and got off while everyone else was finishing up the battle, but Fenris is too ashamed to say what really happened._
> 
> _Where it goes from there is up to an a!anon, as is pairing - does Sebastian or Hawke realize there was more to it than Anders thinks, and tries to get Fenris to open up, then reassures him that he wasn't at fault, either for what happened in the memory, or for his body's reaction while under the spell? Does Anders keep rubbing Fenris' face in it until Fenris can't take it anymore and snaps, telling? How does Anders react when he realizes Fenris was raped as a slave and forced to relive it, and then he made it worse by mocking Fenris for it?_
> 
> _I'm particularly looking for humiliation with eventual resolution through confession to someone and either comfort (Hawke or Sebastian, possibly Anders) or hatesex (with Anders), but I'm open to other conclusions. The memory scene with Danarius can be glossed over or explicit._

The battle was a mess, as was usually the case. There were abominations everywhere, a pair of rage demons and... _it_. Xebenkeck the Undying, an incredibly powerful desire demon that was currently in the process of trying to entice him to turn on his companions. Not that he should need much enticement, mind: after all, Hawke had insisted on bringing an abomination and a blood mage of her own to this party, as if the enemies weren't enough already. But there was Hawke herself to consider, beautiful, strong Hawke who he had yearned for and almost thought he had a chance with before discovering how futile it was, and, even if not for her, it was truly not in his character to turn on those who healed and aided him in battle. He was many things - elf, former slave, fugitive, warrior, weapon - but he was not a traitor. He was fairly certain the others couldn't hear the demon's words, seeing how he heard no one else speak, and yet they seemed to be waging internal battles of their own in addition to the physical battle they were fighting - all except their pet abomination, that was. Presumably having a demon already inside prevented dealings with another. He could only hope the blood mage wasn't that eager to betray them all.  
  
"I know what you most long for, Fenris. Love," the thing purred seductively while he was busying himself with slicing an abomination's head clean off its distorted shoulders, "love is all you've ever craved, isn't it? I could give that to you. You would never have to be alone again."  
  
Even as he knew it was lying, it was nearly impossible to resist its offer. Love... he'd all but given up on ever having it. The longing was suddenly so strong his arms paused midway through the abomination's neck for a moment.  
  
"Yesss... that's it, Fenris... Stay by my side and you will have your heart's desire," it whispered in his ear. "Come to me, Fenris. I'll make your pain go away."  
  
It took summoning all of his willpower, but he finally managed to force his sword through the abomination and turn to face Xebenkeck - the sooner it died, the sooner he would be free of its poisonous promises.  
  
"Be silent and _die_ , creature. You have nothing to offer me!"  
  
For a moment it appeared as though the battle would continue as usual. Then a rage demon came closer to Xebenkeck and the world did a strange flip, both demons seeming to merge temporarily in a horrifying new entity of hate and lust, its voices combined in a dizzying echo.  
  
"You deny me? You will never have love, slave! You will never even be desired, unless you crawl back to your master. This is the truth of your pitiful existance!"  
  
The thing flipped its claws in a complicated pattern, and, suddenly, Darktown was no more.


	2. One

He was on his knees on all fours, and the magister behind him, taking him, filling him, was young, handsome and everything Fenris had ever wanted in a Master. Marcus was his name, and Fenris, the slave, fancied himself in love.  
It was incredibly dangerous - incredibly _stupid_ \- to allow himself to be taken by another magister without his Master's direct order, and in his Master's home no less. It was treason, punishable by death. If Danarius were to find out, Fenris would be drawn and quartered, but magister Marcus also had a lot to lose, as he would undoubtedly be sentenced to replace him with an equally valuable slave or risk having his entire estate confiscated until he complied. Marcus had... _wooed_ was the only word for it, had _wooed_ him when no one else, aside from Danarius himself, had ever even wanted to touch him. The handsome magister had courted him for months, telling Fenris how much he wanted to buy him, how he would be the only one to take him, how he'd never want another body slave. If Marcus were successful then Fenris would come second only to the magister's wife and his two apprentices - it was unheard of, to be so desired. In his heart of hearts Fenris harboured the tiniest hope that it meant that this magister he loved so dearly might one day bring himself so low as to kiss his slave. No one had ever kissed Fenris that he could remember - certainly no one after the ritual that had left him such an ugly, marred creature, with lines of lyrium running all over his body -, he knew it wasn't his place to want such a thing, but he couldn't help it. Some magisters enjoyed kissing their body slaves, though obviously, unlike Fenris they were extremely desirable body slaves. Maybe Marcus would want that, just once.  
  
The elf had asked the magister to wait, to take him only after he had negotiated the transaction with Danarius, so that there was no danger of discovery. He didn't want to be parted from this beautiful magister, whom he loved and wanted so badly to serve, not even by death; but Marcus had refused, had implied that, if he couldn't sample the goods he was going to buy, then perhaps Fenris wasn't worth all that coin. After months of nothing but praise, the threat had cut the elf to the quick, and he had been desperate to prove himself worthy, had been willing to risk everything, so he'd begged the magister to take him. Marcus had taken him roughly and with almost no preparation, hurting him more than Danarius usually did but, for Fenris, it was worth it. They were risking much, after all, it was only to be expected that he wouldn't waste time stretching him. Clearly Marcus desired him above all other slaves. The thought alone was enough to keep Fenris hard as a rock despite the pain, but he could no more come before Marcus commanded it than he could turn the sea pink. Finally the magister rocked his hips so powerfully Fenris almost lost his balance, and spent himself inside the slave. Minutes ticked by with no words exchanged, Fenris' need driving him mad until he risked begging.  
  
"Magister, please, may I come?"  
"My little slut wants to come?"  
"Yes, magister, please."  
"Say it."  
"Your little slut wants to come, magister, please allow your little slut to come."  
  
Marcus withdrew from the elf, his seed dripping down the slave's raised ass and onto his balls, and then smacked his ass hard enough to hurt, once, twice, three times.  
  
"Not magister, slut. You know the word I want you to use."  
  
All of Fenris' training was screaming at him not to do it, that only Danarius was entitled to that word until Marcus bought him, but Marcus was getting angry, perhaps angry enough not to want to buy him anymore, and Fenris _loved_ him.  
  
" _Domine_. Please allow your little slut to come, _Domine_."  
  
The effect was immediate. Marcus rose to his feet and spoke, but it wasn't Fenris that he was addressing.  
  
"I believe I win the bet, old chap. This ugly thing you insist on keeping is nowhere near as loyal as you claim."Danarius' silky reply, together with Marcus' obvious disgust, made a lead ball drop inside Fenris' stomach. He had been a fool. Marcus didn't desire him, had risked nothing, and Fenris would be paying the price alone.  
  
"So I see. My little wolf is more rebellious than I had hoped for. We'll have to rectify that. Shall we discuss your boon, Marcus?"  
  
"Later, I need a bath first. It's going to be a significant boon, old man, considering I had to stick my dick in... _that_ to win it. I feel dirty. Do you have a proper body slave to help clean my cock? I fear I'll be scarred for life if I allow the memory of your pet monstrosity to linger until I get home."  
  
It was a good thing Fenris was already on his hands and knees - he knew better than to move without Danarius' express permission, and so he could see neither one of the two magisters, leaving him even more exposed - or he would have doubled up from the pain he felt. _Pet monstrosity_. _Ugly_ , _hideous_ , _scarred_ , _deformed_ , these were all him. He hoped Danarius was quick in passing his execution so he could stop offending with his mere existence.  
  
"Of course, Marcus. Make use of the bath and whatever slaves you need. My little wolf and I need to have a discussion."

  
Danarius' slippered feet came into view, impossible to miss even with Fenris' eyes fixed firmly on the floor. His Master's words were a soft purr.  
  
"Little wolf, you disappoint me. I thought you knew who your Master was. When people asked me why I kept such a twisted pet, that was always my first praise, how loyal and dedicated you were. But you're a rabid little wolf, aren't you? So ready to bite the one hand that would feed you. What am I going to do with you?"  
  
"Execute me, Domine."  
  
"Yes, execute you, that's what I should do, isn't it? That would at least be sure to silence those treacherous lips, that called another Domine just now. I am weaker for it, for this affection I hold for you who are a twisted unwanted creature, but I cannot bring myself to execute you."  
  
Danarius' tone was heavy with disappointment and Fenris felt shame wash over him in waves. It was true, all of it. His Master, inexplicably, wanted him, and he had allowed himself to be so easily enticed by another. All it had taken had been the promise of not being found lacking, despite the fact that he knew lacking was the best he ever would be, and he had twisted the proverbial knife in his Master's heart. He was truly wretched. Without being commanded, without even asking permission, he brought his lowered head to his Master's foot, pulling the slipper with his teeth, and started lapping at his toes with his tongue, attempting to beg forgiveness in this humblest of ways. Danarius, in far too generous a mood after the horrible betrayal he had just been subjected to, allowed it.  
  
"You thought he would want you? Pay for you? Don't you know that the only people beside me who would ever want you would only strip the lyrium from your corpse? Have you not understood, my pet, that my mercy is the only thing keeping you alive? No one wants you except I, and yet how eagerly you betray me when I have been nothing but generous. But you don't understand yet. I wish you did - then I could simply punish you as you've forced me to and we'd be back to what we were - but you still don't. I shall have to make sure you see." A hand threaded itself in Fenris' hair, pulling his head back even as the magister's foot found his slipper once again. "Enough of that, now. I will show you the truth you have been hiding from behind my mystifying affection. Follow me. On your hands and knees as it should be, my mercy has ran out today."  
  
Fenris crawled obediently behind his Master, Marcus' seed still dripping down the back of his thighs with his every movement and renewing his utter shame. Danarius made him crawl all the way down the stairs and into the foyer, exiting the villa and finally arriving at the smaller house of the estate's healer. Only the most powerful magisters had personal healers, seeing as it was so very hard to find a mage in Tevinter who didn't dabble in blood magic.  
  
"Giles, here is my treacherous little wolf. He's still full of Marcus. You are to administer colonics until he is completely empty. Let him empty his bowels into the chamber pot as many times as necessary. I will send some slaves to wash him afterwards, I want him clean on the inside and out. I will be by to collect him later."  
  
Fenris watched his Master leave helplessly, still on all fours. He was used to feeling exposed, but the enemas that afternoon felt somehow more of a violation, that not even such a private act was within his control. Then a host of slaves were touching him, bathing every crevice with ice cold water, until finally he was left alone, naked and shivering, awaiting his Master's return.

  
When Danarius finally returned, hours later, he had his staff with him as well as a small chest. Fenris acknowledged him with a subdued "Domine," unsure of what was expected of him. He had been punished before, of course, but his transgressions had never been this great. His Master had him seat on a long narrow bench, waved his staff in a complicated pattern and Fenris felt tendrils of magic, heavy and oily, weaving themselves into his belly.  
  
"Giles tells me that you have been completely emptied. That is good. What I have just done to you will make it so you remain that way for the duration of your lesson - it would be messy and unsanitary otherwise, and this isn't meant to punish, little wolf, but to teach. Punishment will come later, after you've learned."  
  
While he was speaking, the magister had set down the chest on the bench and was opening it, still wearing that expression of heavy disappointment that made Fenris all but want to disappear. He retrieved a green blue gel that the slave was well acquainted with - Danarius' special lubricant, that he brewed for Fenris alone, that prevented him from tearing no matter how great the pain in his anus. Marcus hadn't used any, had almost tore him, and he'd allowed it despite knowing that he'd be less valuable to his Master if he were to be damaged that way. Danarius abhorred the thought of a slave's blood touching him, dirtying him, but the elf had paid no mind to his Master's needs in his traitorous quest to rise above his station. Maker, he was so unworthy, how could Danarius bear to own him?  
  
While he had been musing his master had taken one other object from the chest, an object that caused Fenris' mouth go dry and his stomach - empty, for which he was suddenly thankful - to clench in fear. It was a wooden phallus, longer and thicker than Danarius' cock, longer and thicker than Marcus' cock, terrifying in length and width. Fenris knew it was still realistic enough to have been modelled to the dimensions of a rather well endowed human, but that did little to help the fear that was threatening to overtake him while Danarius coated the phallus in a thick layer of lubricant. Then the magister had pulled an intricate looking set of leather straps and belt buckles and was suddenly standing right in front of his seated form.  
  
"On your knees now, Fenris, I want your belly on top of the bench and your palms flat on the floor on the other side. That's it, there's a good wolf. If only you'd been this obedient before..."  
  
The position in which he found himself was awkward and unyielding, the bench slightly too tall for both hands and knees to properly settle on the floor at the same time, Danarius' command to flatten his palms making sure that it was his upper body that was supported, his lower half somewhat elevated and exposed. He couldn't see what his Master was doing behind him, but sooner than he was ready for he felt the gelatinous coolness of the potion being smeared on his backside and then, with no further preparation - not even a single digit - Danarius had the wooden phallus attempting to penetrate him. His insides were being seared - the gel wouldn't allow him to tear but, _Maker_ , it wouldn't stop the pain - and he fought to remain silent and still, his eyes watering.  
  
"I'm sorry it has to be this way, little wolf. It's truly not punishment, but I can't bring myself to touch you where you've allowed Marcus to be mere hours ago. Shhh, now, the tip is almost in, it'll get better after that. I wish you hadn't forced me to do this." The magister's heavy regret was beginning to colour with some impatience at the involuntary stubbornness of his slave's body. "Relax, now, Fenris, you're only making this harder on yourself than it has to be. And stop that keening, it's unbecoming of a proper slave."

  
Fenris had no notion of how long he knelt there, the thick phallus being pushed into him, burning him, splitting him in two. His throat was raw even though he'd kept his whimpering low pitched, and his back and forehead were slick with sweat. His ass, already tender from Marcus' rough treatment and the enemas that had followed, felt like it was on fire, throbbing around the phallus and renewing his pain. Danarius had stopped pushing when there was only the tiniest bit of phallus still on the outside of his slave, but now one of the leather straps was covering it, pushing it all the way in, and then the magister was commanding Fenris to stand and was arranging and buckling the rest of the leather straps around his thighs and waist so that the horribly large toy in his ass couldn't accidentally be expelled. The magister surveyed his handiwork and then lightly patted his slave's leather-locked rump, causing a fresh bout of agony.  
  
"There, all done. Follow me, now, little wolf, and you may walk this time.

  
Walking was a tortuous task, as every step made his ass cheeks clench in an involuntary and futile attempt to expel the phallus inside him, and by the time they arrived at the magister's bedroom, having crossed the courtyard and climbed the stairs, Fenris could have fainted with relief. Surely now Danarius would teach him the lesson he had planned to and then remove the object from him.  
He quickly knelt as was expected of him here in the bedroom, but Danarius waved him off.  
  
"No need for that, little wolf, we only came up to retrieve your collar," he said while rummaging his bedside drawer, "I forgot to pack it in the chest, so distraught was I by your betrayal." An elegant leather collar was extracted from the drawer and, more rummaging later, something that looked very much like a leash. "Here it is. Come here, so I can put it on you, and then we're going out."  
  
Even through the pain, the wave of panic rising in Fenris was threatening to overtake him. He'd managed to walk across the courtyard and up the stairs because he had been telling himself that it would be over soon, but they were going out? He was going to be walking, naked save for his collar and the leather strips that locked in the source of his agony but did nothing to hide his soft cock, through the streets of Minrathous? His shame aside, what if he couldn't do it? What if he fell somewhere where it would publicly embarrass his Master, who had already forgiven him far too much today? Would Danarius finally tire of him and sell him then? He had to be strong, he had to endure it, he could not fail. He _would not_ fail.  
  
It was repeating this last thought like a mantra that he managed to go down the stairs, his Master lightly pulling his leash. He had never worn a leash before, and had never left the estate without his sword and armour - he had been, until today, exclusively a bodyguard once they were out of the gates; it was only in the privacy of Danarius' home that Fenris was afforded the privilege of attending his Master's needs - but he didn't allow himself to feel anything other than resolve. _He would not fail._  
  
To his surprise, Danarius' generosity extended to allowing him to ride inside the carriage. That had never happened before either, and it further cemented what Fenris was already painfully aware of: that the magister was far too lenient with his undeserving slave. He sat on the carriage floor by his Master's feet, pain shooting through him at every bump in the road, for nearly three hours. It was only the resolve to not embarrass his Master that granted him the strength to get out of the carriage and press forward, even as he realised where they were. The barracks. The barracks, filled with soldiers who had seen him fight at some point or other, who had been forced to recognise his skill with a sword no matter how ugly and deformed he was, who had coveted that same skill for themselves. And he was being paraded, naked and on a leash, through the courtyard full of men. Never again would even the grudging respect they'd showed him be meant for him. It served him right for having betrayed his Master.  
  
Yet another set of stairs to climb, and the slave's ass managed to feel both numb and on fire at the same time. . _He would not fail._  
  
Fenris was so focused on walking, one step at a time, that he didn't even notice they'd reached the Commander's office until Danarius pulled his leash upwards, signalling him to stop. The magister didn't bother knocking, simply opening the door and stepping inside. From his position just outside the door, next to Danarius' acting bodyguard - _Maker_ , how that stung! - Fenris had a privileged view of the inside, seeing without being noticed. The Commander looked up from his papers irritably, ready to take to task whoever had dared invade his office like that, and promptly pasted an unctuous smile on his face instead as soon as he realised it was a magister gracing his door.  
  
"Magister Danarius! What an honour! Have you come to inspect the troops?"  
  
"Not today, Commander. I would ask a favour of you."  
  
"Certainly, Magister, I'd be honoured to assist with whatever you wish."

  
"Fenris, enter," Danarius called out. As soon as he set foot in the office Fenris saw the Commander's eyes widen in recognition and surprise before quickly narrowing in disgust. The magister's tone was pleasant.  
  
"This is my little wolf. I'm sure you've met him before, haven't you, Andreas?"  
  
"At last year's tournament, magister."  
  
"Ah, yes, now I recall it, you bet on him in the final, didn't you? You've always been a good judge of strength and skill."  
  
Andreas looked like he didn't think much of the naked elf's strength or skill at this moment, and Fenris felt suddenly grateful that being a slave meant he could stare at the floor unless commanded to do otherwise.  
  
"I would like to leave my rebellious little wolf in your care for a week, Andreas."  
  
 _A week?_ It was all Fenris could do to not hyperventilate.  
  
"Does he require training, magister?"  
  
"Not at all. It is part of an exercise in reality that I am having him do. I understand you and your men have needs, Andreas. The brothel is far, home farther still, and the flesh is weak. I do not want him damaged, but he may be used by any who would want to. His bottom is plugged, but if he is to be used there you can remove the plug." Danarius set a key on top of the desk. "This opens the leather straps so you can have access."  
  
This wasn't happening. It was someone else standing here, on display, a phallus in his ass, ready to be used by a regiment of horny men. He was asleep by the foot of Danarius' bed, having a nightmare that foreshadowed what giving in to Marcus' false promises would bring. He wasn't truly here, _Maker_ , he wasn't.  
  
"Magister, may I speak frankly?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
"Are my men required to fuck _that_? I suppose I have a few who deserve punishment, but it was to be nothing so severe... Still, if that is your wish..."  
  
"No, no, no, Andreas, you misunderstand me. My only wish is that he stay the week. I am merely saying he is fair game should any of your men desire him. I would never dream of imposing him on another, I am aware of his deformity. Still, I imagine some might have special tastes."  
  
"With all due respect, magister, I hardly think anyone could desire that, but I'll be honoured to be able to aid you in your exercise by keeping him the week."  
  
"Good. Let me explain to you how to care for him." Danarius was already opening his small chest again, taking out seven ochre-coloured potions that Fenris had never seen before, plus a pot of his special lubricant. "He will not need a chamber pot for anything other than to urinate in for as long as he is here. You are not to give him food or water, as that would negate the effort. One of these potions a day will keep him nourished and healthy. Like I said, I do not wish him damaged, so if anyone is to use him, they will need to coat him and themselves with this, to prevent tearing. He is not allowed to remove the phallus himself, but any one of your men may do so. That is all. In seven days I will return and - I cannot stress this enough - I expect to find him undamaged. And clean. Have you any questions?"  
  
The rest of the conversation was drowned out by the pounding of blood in his ears. A week. He was going to have the horrible phallus in his ass for a week unless someone actually wanted to use him. As much as the mere thought of being taken right now hurt, he knew he needed to find a way of making himself wanted so the phallus could come off. He wanted to kneel, to beg his Master to take him home and punish him, but he knew such lack of restraint would only embarrass Danarius, so he forced himself to remain still as the magister passed his leash to the Commander and walked out without a backwards glance.

  
It was the longest week of his life. Andreas had attached his leash to the foot of an empty cot in one of the dormitories, with not enough leave to stand, a chamber pot close enough that he could pee while kneeling, and called all his men to inform them of Danarius' instructions. Fenris knew he was hideous, but still... There was no one who hadn't reacted with sheer disgust. Not a single man had wanted to fuck him, and the opportunity to beg barely presented itself seeing as he only interacted with other men once a day. A different one came each day to feed him the nourishing potion and down a bucket of water on him so he'd keep clean. Most didn't look at him, or they tried their best not to. Fenris forgot what it was like to not be in constant pain, the phallus in his ass an ever present, all encompassing entity that his world had been reduced to. By the fourth day he thought he might be lucky when the man of the day looked at him, _really_ looked at him, with undisguised pity. He had truly begged then, but the man had told him in no uncertain terms that, though he pitied him, removing the phallus would require actually touching him. Seeing the man's retreating back, the rest of his hope leaving with him, brought home how truly disgusting he was. He had the kindest of Masters, who wanted him despite what he was, and he had betrayed him most cruelly; still, Danarius hadn't sold him because he knew what fate awaited his slave if he did. His kindness knew no bounds. Fenris privately vowed to be the best slave he could be, to never again give his Master further cause to regret owning him. He could only hope Danarius hadn't suddenly decided to just leave him rotting here forever, but the lyrium in him was valuable enough that the magister wouldn't. Probably. Maybe. _Please_.  
  
His pleas were mercifully answered and the magister did return, punctual as ever, on the seventh day. No words were exchanged between them other than the required "Domine," but, as soon as they were back in the carriage, Danarius' expression softened in grief, his fingers caressing his slave's hair, Fenris leaning greedily into the touch.  
  
"Oh, my little wolf. I am so sorry. Andreas told me, I did not expect... I wanted to teach you, I wanted you to understand that very few men could ever want you, but I did not expect that not one would touch you. Not even _one_... I would not have left you there so long if I'd known, little wolf, I am sorry."  
  
Such kindness broke Fenris in a way that harshness hadn't managed to, and sobs broke out of him against his will. Danarius pulled him up in the cramped space of the moving carriage, Fenris standing hunched because of the low ceiling, and made short work of unlocking his slave's straps.  
  
"I'm not going to punish you, my little wolf. I was going to punish you after your lesson, but I did not mean for the lesson to be this harsh." The phallus was suddenly pulled out of him, no doubt more forcefully than Danarius had intended to because of a bump in the road, and the pain was different but no less intense. Fenris fell forward onto his Master's lap with a whimper, but the magister forgave that too, quickly coating a digit in a pot of his special lubricant salve and sliding it into the slave's ass with no resistance at all. A second digit followed, then a third. Somehow Danarius managed to manoeuvre them both so that Fenris was kneeling on the carriage floor, arms propped up on the bench, his Master behind him already lifting up his robes. To feel his Master's cock at his entrance was a blessing, his words a soothing balm for the slave's mind.

  
"It's alright, my little wolf, I want you. I care. I cannot even wait to get home to show you that you're wanted. You're too loose now but don't worry, little wolf, I have a spell to make you as tight as you used to be as soon as we're home." The magister's cock was fully sheathed, one of his arms around Fenris' belly giving him the contact he had so craved the past week, relief flooding his senses. Danarius wanted him. It did not matter that no one else did, Danarius wanted him. There was nothing he wouldn't do for his Master. Tears streamed down his face, pain mixed with regret and relief.  
  
"I am so sorry, Master, so sorry."

  
"Shh. I know, it's forgiven," the magister whispered in his ear. "I want you to come for me, little wolf. Touch yourself and be ready to come for me when I command it, show me how much you want me."  
  
Fenris complied, eager to please, Danarius' so very obvious tenderness assuaging his pain and acting like a powerful aphrodisiac. He'd never have betrayed the magister had he known how much he cared, it was all he had ever wanted. He pumped himself in time with his Master's thrusts, the pain inconsequential, and was trembling with need and desire by the time the magister orgasmed and commanded him to finally come.


	3. Two

Waking was such a disorienting sensation that, for the first few seconds, he wasn't aware of where he was. Then it all came rushing back to him. What Xebenkeck had made him relive, he'd managed to forget it before - not truly forget, not missing like his memories before the ritual were, but he had managed to bury it so deep inside his psyche that he had managed to fool himself into believing he had been only Danarius’ bodyguard and nothing else. Xebenkeck had taken that from him, he'd never be able to deceive himself again. He'd been the magister’s willing whore, but that had been ok, because no one else had ever wanted him, no one else ever could. That shed new light on Hawke’s behaviour and - _Hawke!_ He was no longer in Minrathous. No longer bound to Danarius, no longer a slave, he'd been free and on the run for years. Hawke, Xebenkeck, the battle. But there were no sounds of battle, only silence. Of the heavy, uncomfortable variety, but also of the very welcome variety because, if it was heavy and uncomfortable, it meant his companions were alive. There was a cooling stickiness inside his leggings and - _oh, Maker!_ \- the aforementioned heavy uncomfortable silence was accompanied by two knowing-yet-disbelieving stares (and an unknowing one, but that one hardly counted). He'd come inside his leggings at Danarius’ remembered command, like a good little pet. In front of his companions. During the battle. Was it too much to hope for that maybe they hadn't noticed?  
  
"I can't believe you!" The abomination. Of course. "What did you do, make a deal with Xebenkeck that you’d skip out on the fight for a bunch of orgasms? Are the Rose’s prices too steep for your needs, Serah Comes-A-Lot? You really needed a desire demon to get you off in the middle of a blighted battle?"  
  
On second thought, it would perhaps have been no great loss if the abomination hadn't managed to survive.  
  
"Should you find yourself in need again drop by the clinic instead of bailing out mid-battle. I'm sure I have a staff or two I can lend you so you can satisfy yourself in private."  
  
He didn't think he'd ever felt this humiliated before. These people - Hawke at the very least - had respected him. In their eyes he had been a warrior, a fighter, an asset. Now he was nothing but an unreliable slut who blacked out during combat to come in his pants. _Maker_. Even kneeling beneath Danarius in pain, begging for the magister’s cock up his ass, his worth in a fight had never been questioned. He was still hideous, disgusting, but anyone would have endured his presence long enough for him to lift a sword in their aid. Now even that was gone. He wondered if Hawke would ever come calling at the mansion to all but drag him into an adventure, or if Xebenkeck had truly cost him everything he had.  
  
Hawke, ever sarcastic, seemed torn between reproaching the abomination and controlling her laughter. She failed spectacularly at both.  
  
"Shut up, Anders," she said between snorts, "Can’t you see he's embarrassed enough as it is?" A guffaw she’d been trying to contain escaped her. "Oh, Maker, but Serah Comes-A-Lot does have a nice ring to it!"  
  
He got up without a word, searching with his eyes for his sword. He wanted to speak, to throw a barb back at the abomination, but he couldn’t. If he spoke he might break, and the last thing he wanted was for anyone to know the truth. No one had ever wanted him except Danarius, and he'd kill the magister when next he came for him. There would be no one left to want him. Still, better that than the whore he had been. Far better that than to be a vicious lapdog who slew all his friends, friends who had stood up to protect him, friends he had been in awe of, at the behest of his owner. He was his own man now, a free man. Merrill’s voice floated to him, interrupting his train of thought.  
  
"Wait, are you saying he... You’re wrong, Hawke, he couldn't have, I saw it with my own eyes, he was having _spasms_. He couldn't have been doing that, there was no one else with him!"  
  
The abomination was the one to reply, for once expressing a sentiment Fenris could agree with.  
  
"Maker, are you really that naive? No wonder the demons found you such easy prey!"

  
"Anders, that’s enough!" Hawke’s voice held no laughter now, and somehow that hurt most of all, that she'd find humour in his situation but jump to the blood mage’s defence at the first sign of attack. He spotted his sword not half a metre from where he had fallen - he’d been so distraught he hadn't even seen it - and picked it up. The battle seemed to have been over long ago, and whatever looting there was to be done Hawke had already done it; there was no need to linger. He found his voice.  
  
"We should move on."  
  
"We would have," the abomination felt the need to retort, pointedly, "except _someone_ decided a few trips to the golden city were in order."  
  
"I was not speaking to _you_ ," he ground out.  
  
"Oh, fine, be that way. We were finished here anyway, weren't we, Hawke? Come, Fenris. Oh, dear! Poor choice of words?"  
  
Fenris tensed up but kept his mouth closed. _Come, Fenris_. Did the abomination know? Had they all been aware of the magister’s words in his memory? Did they all know how completely Danarius had owned him, or was it simply that one of the abomination’s barbs hit closer to home than the mage knew? He really hoped Hawke wouldn't let things get this personal if they knew, but he couldn't be sure. Why protect something so worthless, after all?  
  
The return trip was anything but peaceful. The blood mage was offended at the abomination and was thus blessedly silent, but the abomination more than made up for it, and Hawke’s failed attempts to reign him in and even to control her own laughter had him all but running ahead on his own.  
  
He was never as grateful to be squatting in Hightown than he was that day. He barred his door for the first time, tore his leggings from himself as soon as that was done, got out of his armour and all but ran to the mansion’s bathing chamber, filling the tub with water and scrubbing himself raw. He lost track of time, submerged in water that was ice cold, trying and failing to cleanse the filth he felt within himself. And if not all the droplets running down his face when he emerged were water, well, there was no one to care.  
  
The sun had still been high in the sky when he'd returned to the mansion, but it had long since set by the time he left the tub. Then, naked and shivering, he set to washing his leggings, on his knees by the tub because he didn't think he had the strength to stand. After that he dragged himself to bed, not bothering to dress or light a fire. Nothing could ward off the chill inside him, it was pointless to try.  
  
His sleep was uneasy that night, memories of him debasing himself at Danarius’ feet, long since repressed, coming to the surface. Fenris on his knees in the middle of the courtyard, licking his master’s balls while the other slaves did their best to look away. Fenris standing proud in the arena, a dozen corpses surrounding him, all of the best fighters of Danarius’ rival magister slain by his sword while Danarius himself had needed to bring only him - and then his master rewarding him by bringing him to his knees, his head being pushed so far into the bloodied sand he thought he might choke, and then taking him there, nearly dry, in front of everyone. He had not been allowed to come that time, but he'd been so grateful to his master for having wanted him enough to not be embarrassed to be seen using him... There were other memories he had suppressed, Hadriana having other types of fun while his master wasn’t around, plugging his ass with something that had a tail, bridling his mouth and parading him at a horse show, three days since he’d last eaten, having to drink his water with the horses from their tin. Memories turned into nightmares and the abomination was sticking one of his staves whole into him, Hawke looking on and laughing, Xebenkeck whispering he should have taken its offer when he'd been given the chance, all the Fog Warriors looking on and silently pointing accusing fingers at him. Hawke saying she’d tired of the sport, and perhaps Danarius was enough of a fool to actually pay to take his pet monstrosity off her hands.

  
He woke up late in the afternoon covered in cold sweat, his body aching as if he had a fever. Hadriana was dead, by his own hand, and although his conscious mind hadn't known the depths of his hatred, his instincts had remembered enough to kill her anyway. Hawke giving him away like trash had been a nightmare only, she might be sarcastic but she was too kind. He remembered the way she had rejected him on the night Hadriana had died, over a year ago - she’d found it in her to be kind and spare him the truth of his absolute hideousness. He'd gone to her baring his heart, convinced that all the flirting she did with him had meaning - and wasn't that a kindness in itself, that she’d flirted with him as if he warranted it? -, had held all of his hopes in his too-tight fist, clutching so tightly to protect them that he was the first to start crushing them. He’d hoped for a kiss - he was pathetic, yearning so fiercely for something everyone else took for granted -, he hadn't remembered then he was a whore. Her face had changed when she caught on to what he'd gone there to do, had switched from flirty to consternated and concerned in a flash.  
  
"Maker, Fenris," she'd said, "you took my flirting seriously? I am so sorry. I thought you knew. I flirt with everyone - void, even holier-than-Andraste-herself-Sebastian - but I thought everyone knew. I don't like men that way, Fenris. I honestly thought you knew. Please don't hate me, I never meant to lead you on."  
  
He'd muttered something inconsequential and left as quickly as he could, to lick his wounds in private, but now he wondered how much truth her words had held, and how much of it had been kindness to protect him of his own disfigurement. He had loved her back then, had been in love with her for the better part of six months after that. Sometimes he still missed the feeling of being in love with someone, unrequited or not.  
  
As much as he didn't want to face his companions, he wanted to stay in Danarius’ mansion and dwell on his memories even less, so he forced himself to put on his armour and go to the Hanged Man that night. Everyone was playing Wicked Grace, his usual chair waiting for him, and it comforted him to know they hadn't had it removed. Isabela eyed him with a glint in her eye that he'd have called appreciative had it been directed towards anyone else. The pirate was truly kind in her own way, although not many people realised it.  
  
"Hello, there, tall, dark and handsome. We were worrying you wouldn't show. Anders’ impression of you simply does you no _justice_ , if you'll pardon the pun."  
  
"Oh, but it does," the abomination replied, "you just had to have been there to see it. Hawke, isn't my Serah Comes-A-Lot impression spot on?" And he threw himself to the floor, eyes closed, and started writhing and moaning in abandonment. "Oh! I’m going to come in my pants. _Yes_ , Xebenkeck, _more_ , Xebenkeck, _please_ , Xebenkeck. Slay all my companions just as long as the orgasms keep coming, _yes_ , XEBENKECK!"  
  
He finished his little pantomime with a shout, Aveline looking disapprovingly, Sebastian decidedly not looking, Varric, Hawke and Isabela all in various stages of attempting to control their mirth while Merrill still insisted "It couldn't have been, Xebenkeck wasn't with him, it was fighting _us_. He was having _spasms_."  
  
Strangely enough he felt better. If the abomination only knew enough to scream the demon’s name, if the blood mage was still going on about spasms, then they didn't know it had been Danarius commanding his body. His secret was still safe from others, though he wished he had kept it safe from himself as well. He crossed over to his spot (deliberately stepping on the abomination’s hand in the process and, for the first time in his life, wishing he had on a pair of boots) and played cards as if it didn't matter.

  
Hawke showed up in his mansion the following day, needing a fighter for one of her quests, and he could have wept of gratitude that she still valued his fighting skills. The abomination was surprisingly silent during their trek through Sundermount, and he was beginning to believe the other man had finally tired of mocking him when he suddenly exclaimed "Hawke, I haven't wanked in a while, can it be my turn to come? Please? Fenris has had his turn! You don’t really need a healer to fight bandits, right?"  
  
The day after that it was "Oh, I know, Serah Comes-A-Lot could aim for the mercenaries’ eyes, then they’d be temporarily blind, not to mention busy wiping their faces off, and _we_ ’d busy ourselves wiping _them_ off Kirkwall instead." and then the day after that it had been "You're right, Fenris, mages _are_ too dangerous to be allowed their freedom. They can succumb to demons so much more easily than _regular_ people, after all! Remind me how many mages were in the fight against Xebenkeck, was it two? And who was it who succumbed to the demon? Oh, that’s right, it wasn't one of the mages, was it, it was _you_!" until, one more day after that, when Hawke had come suggesting a field trip to the Bone Pit, he'd flat out refused to go unless the abomination was left out. Hawke, who had stopped finding the abomination’s taunting funny after day two, acquiesced, and it was the two of them, the blood mage and Aveline.  
  
Not bringing the abomination had turned out to be a mistake, he concluded as he felt the spider’s poison coursing through his veins, their supply of potions smashed on the rock floor where Hawke’s backpack had snapped. He managed to finish the fight with some difficulty - he'd be damned if he gave his companions any more reason to think him a liability in combat - but by then the paralysing agent had progressed too far in his system to be healed through any conventional means - he'd need magic.  
  
Aveline and Hawke had had to cart his stiff, unmoving body all the way to Darktown between them, Merrill trailing beside them, Hawke muttering to herself that it was the last time she left the abomination behind now that Bethany was a Warden.  
  
He had wanted to beg Hawke not to leave him alone with his nemesis, but the paralysis was complete, robbing him even of speech, so he had simply remained there, stiff as a board, helpless, listening to the women’s footsteps fading away. And the abomination just wouldn't shut up, his voice pitched lower than usual to imitate Fenris’.

  
"Leave the abomination home, why don't you? Of course we don't need him, Hawke. What’s that? It takes up ten times _more_ of the man’s time and mana to heal spider venom once it’s gone this far than it would have to have him heal it as it happened? Oh, _bugger_!" Magic was sweeping over him, barely making a dent in the poison’s hold. "Well now you know. So the next time you decide you don't need me to tag along, you'd better be prepared to spend the rest of your life as one of those statues in the Gallows courtyard. You’d like that, wouldn't you? Towering over captive innocent mages forever? Of all the blighted, prejudiced, _irresponsible_ things to do, not taking me to the Bone Pit damn well takes the cake." Whatever the magic was doing to him, he was starting to sweat profusely. Then the abomination, physically stronger than any mage had a right to be, propped him up against the wall as if he were one of his staffs and - _Maker, no!_ \- pulled his leggings down. He hadn't actually believed the abomination would be the sort to rape him, but as powerless as he felt, the idea was almost welcome. The man wanted him, even if it was out of hate. What did it matter that he’d be yet another mage’s fucktoy for a day, his hole about to be used, torn and bloodied, the last dregs of his dignity stripped, if it meant he’d have that elusive proof that Danarius had been wrong, that somebody wanted him, whatever the reason? But the abomination merely slid a chamber pot in between his paralysed legs and said "Your bladder will start functioning any minute now, don't fight it. The toxins need to come out and sweat alone isn't going to cover it. And if you’re there inside those paralysed vocal chords fuming over the indignity of it all you can get over yourself - I’m staring at the wall, not ogling your arse."  
  
 _Of course_. Of course he hadn't been wanted, what kind of a blind fool was he, anyway? A huge part of him was tremendously relieved he wasn't about to be raped, of course, but confirmation of what he’d known all along still hurt. His bladder did start working then, his piss hitting the chamber pot with far too loud a sound echoing in his ears, and it occurred to him that the abomination might as well have left him to piss in his pants, lying on a soaked cot the entire night, but he had taken the care to spare him that humiliation. Then his stiff form was shaken slightly, as if he were a little boy being taught how to pee upright for the first time, and his - very thankfully dry - leggings were being pulled up to cover him. He was laid flat on his back in the cot and the healer continued his diatribe.  
  
"You’re damn lucky they brought you to me in time, this thing could have hit your heart or your lungs. ’Leave the abomination behind’, indeed. I should make you choke on your own spit for a while so you’d learn, messere All-Magic-Is-Evil."  
  
It was odd but, if he didn't know any better, he'd swear the abomination’s tone got angrier whenever the possibility of Fenris having died was brought up.  
  
"I had better things to do today, I had _plans_. But _no_ , now I get to babysit you for hours on end just in case this thing ends up being more resilient to my magic than it’s supposed to. I’m telling you now, elf, if you dare to die on my watch I'm going to bury you under a headstone that says ’ _Here lies Fenris, whose only dream was to help free oppressed mages from the Circle_ ’. I'm sure you’d just love that, so there. This is just peachy. Of all the times I wished you'd shut up, you have to do it on the one day when it would actually be helpful to know what parts of your damned paralysed body are coming back to normal."

  
On and on the other man ranted, his actions at odds with his words. The moment Fenris managed to wiggle the toes on his left foot the man was there, massaging feeling expertly back into his foot; when he was so sweaty the acrid smell of the toxin was making him nauseous a refreshing bout of cleansing magic spread through him, helping him to feel more comfortable. Every couple of hours he was being turned to this side or that, then on his back again, so there would be no residual pain from staying in the same position for too long. By night his voice had returned enough for him to rasp "Water", and no sooner had he said it than a waterskin was being pressed to his dry lips, careful not to let him choke. It wasn't until he was well enough to leave that the abomination started mocking him again.  
  
"Good, he moves again. And here I was beginning to fear you were going to decide to come right there on the cot and then expect me to clean up after you."  
  
His nerves were already frayed from a week of taunting and a day of helplessness, but the memory of the healer’s professional caring of him allowed him to reign in his temper. His voice was clipped, rage bubbling beneath the surface, but he thought he was being quite civil when he managed to condense his feelings into a simple " _Don't_ ".  
  
" _Don’t_? Oooh, aren't you scary! What are you going to do, another deal with your pet demon for it to kill me? I hate to break it to you, but we killed it first, while you were busy betraying us and everything you claim to stand for by taking such a flimsy deal in the first place."  
  
"Mage, don't. I struck no bargain."  
  
"Oh, please, you think I'm an idiot? You didn't go all out is what you mean, you didn't turn to fight against us, but you certainly didn't refuse when it offered you pleasure in exchange for not interfering, did you?"  
  
"It offered no such thing!" He was more than insulted now, that the abomination would think him as weak as that. "It offered everything I have ever wanted, but I turned it down."  
  
" _Obviously_ , that’s why it rewarded you with pleasure!"  
  
"It rewarded me with _nothing_!"  
  
"Oh, I'm terribly sorry, was it your evil twin I saw writhing in ecstasy on the floor, coming in his pants?"  
  
"That was no reward."  
  
"Oh _really_? What was it then, punishment? Where do I sign up for that sort of punishment?"  
  
"In Tevinter! I'm certain Danarius will be glad to have another slave he can fuck at will and make him think he wants it! Only he likes them to be so deformed that no one else will _ever_ want them, so you better be prepared to have lyrium poured into you."  
  
Silence. Brown eyes widened impossibly. Fenris realised what he had said. An indescribable expression crossed the abomination’s face - he'd have called it regret in any other situation. The voice calling his name was suddenly soft.  
  
"Fenris-"  
  
And he ran. He ran like a man being chased by a legion of angry demons, all the way to the mansion. It wasn't until he'd once more barred the door that he realised he'd left his sword at the clinic.  
  
Tears streamed freely down his cheeks, his pain making him too incoherent to even think. He didn't realise he'd slid down the door, didn't notice when he cried himself to sleep, still in his armour. Sleep was once again his enemy, this time plaguing him with the faces of all the people he had once called friends, laughing at him, fingers pointed in mockery.  
  
When he first woke up, in the early hours of morning, for a brief moment, he allowed himself to believe it had all been a nightmare. The reality of where he was sleeping and the absence of his sword soon showed the lie for what it was, though. The abomination _knew_. Soon everyone would know, and he had no one to blame but himself. He'd have to leave Kirkwall of course. If just this week had wrecked his self-control like that, he couldn't even begin to imagine what it would be like to continue living there with everyone knowing. Danarius had known just what he was doing when he devised his markings - he'd either belong to the magister or to no one at all. He chose no one at all.

  
Briefly he considered going to the Rose, but he discarded the notion. Marcus had been willing to debase himself enough to take him when Danarius’ favour had been the prize. No doubt a hungry whore might do the same for coin - it still proved nothing. Rinsing his face with cold water so the swelling wouldn’t show, he came to a decision: he’d have to go to the clinic, face the abomination to get his sword back, and leave Kirkwall that very same day.  
  
His steps took him past the Hanged Man and across Isabela’s path. She was arriving, obviously - Isabela could be counted on to only be up early in the morning if she hadn’t slept yet - and she turned to greet him.  
  
"Well hello, there. Where are you off smouldering to, and what must I do to have you smouldering at _me_ like that?"  
  
His mouth spoke before his brain could catch up.  
  
"Take me up to your bedroom."  
  
The pirate looked dumbfounded. "Sorry?"  
  
"You keep hinting at it, if you want sex let’s have sex."  
  
His heart hammered in his chest. Isabela was notorious for desiring just about everyone, could she want even him? A look of consternation crossed her features.  
  
"Maker’s roasted nuts on a spit, you mean that, don't you? Oh, this is just my luck! We’ve known each other for how many years? Couldn't you have decided that two weeks ago?" A string of colourful expletives passed her lips until she slowed down enough for her words to be discernible again. "A week and a half ago I did what I never thought I'd do - I told Hawke we could be exclusive. And _now_ you offer that? That’s just bloody unfair!"  
  
He had to hand it to her, Isabela went out of her way to protect his feelings, she acted as if she really did want to take him up on his offer. The abomination must not have told everyone yet. He plastered an indifferent expression on his face.  
  
"No harm done, I just wanted to shut you up. I'll be going now."  
  
He swore he could still hear her cursing about it being "bloody unfair" on the steps to Darktown.  
  
  
The clinic’s lamp was unlit, and this part was the hardest. There would be no pretending with the abomination, he _knew_. His mind flashed back to the previous day, when his leggings had been pulled down and he had thought he was about to be raped. What if he offered? Would the abomination be turned on enough by the prospect of using him as if they were a Tevinter magister and his elvhen slave? Coin wasn't a reason, Danarius’ favour wasn't a reason, but hatred for him was, because it was still something meant only for him. Would the abomination make a liar out of Danarius and want him for something, anything at all? He was leaving Kirkwall, so even if ( _when?_ ) the abomination rejected him, there wouldn't be much time for mocking. He knocked. The swiftness with which the door was opened told him the other man hadn't been asleep.  
  
"Fenris. Come in."  
  
The inside of the clinic was dark but he could just make out the outline of his sword propped up against the opposite wall, close to the abomination’s sleeping quarters. He walked in and the clinic door was pushed closed behind him. He wished he knew how to start. He was about to debase himself even further without any real hope of reward.  
  
"I’m glad you came. All the things I said this week-"  
  
He knew he probably looked like a madman, but it was either blurt it out or lose the courage.  
  
"Yesterday when you helped me piss I thought you were about to rape me."  
  
The abomination recoiled as if he'd been slapped. His voice was soft, wounded.  
  
"I knew you thought a lot of things about me, but didn't know two-bit rapist had made the cut."  
  
That the abomination was more focused on the insult than disgusted at the thought of ever wanting Fenris was heartening.  
  
"It hadn't, not until yesterday."  
  
"I suppose that's something."  
  
"Would you like to?"  
  
"Would I like to become a rapist?" the man’s voice sounded more tired and defeated than anything else. "No, Fenris, I wouldn't. I think I'll keep my principles and integrity if it's all the same to you."  
  
"And if it wasn't rape?"  
  
"Excuse me?"

  
"If it wasn't rape? If I let you do with my body whatever you pleased today, if you could fuck my mouth and my ass and my throat and I let you? If you could cause me whatever amount of pain you wished? If I offered to be your slave for the morning? Would you want me then?"  
  
" _Maker_. You can't mean that."  
  
He hadn't flat out refused him. Maybe there was something there, a possibility, a spark. Maybe he was sufficiently hated that this would work. He activated his markings the tiniest bit, just enough to illuminate himself in the darkness, and dropped to his knees in a practiced move, with all the grace a magister would appreciate, bowing his head.  
  
"I do mean that. Command me and I shall do your bidding. _Domine_."  
  
"No! Get up! You’re a free man, Fenris!"  
  
He was past the point of any self-preservation now. This was his one chance to prove his old master wrong. If he could only have that... He looked up and into the abomination’s horrified eyes. He was about to disclose how best to hurt him and he couldn't even bring himself to care.  
  
"I know the spell Danarius used to punish me with through my markings, I remember the words and the gestures. I could teach it to you. You could send pain through me while you mounted me, and I’d stay completely still and take it or you'd do it over and over and over. I'd obey."  
  
The abomination seemed about to reject his offer so he got up and played his last desperate hand.  
  
"Or you could pretend I was a Templar. You could whip me and make me crawl and fuck me to put me in my proper place, would you desire me then?"  
  
Hands grabbed his arms and shook him. The voice scolding him was thick with something but he didn't know what.  
  
"Fenris, _stop_! I would desire none of those things, I'm not a monster!"  
  
It was over. He'd lost, Danarius had won and he'd always known it would end up like this.  
  
"I understand." His markings died down and he turned to leave, or tried to, only to find the hands on his arms hadn't moved.  
  
"No. You don't. And there’s no way I'm letting you go out there and offer yourself up for torture to the first sick fuck that crosses your path, so look at me and listen."  
  
His eyes snapped to attention, able to see the abomination’s this close, even if it was dark. Maybe this was a test, to see how obedient he could be?  
  
"That’s not the way it's supposed to be. Sex is something beautiful, it’s giving, as much as it is taking, it’s supposed to be about pleasure for everyone involved. Even the people who do like those pain games, and I can't count myself among their number, do it in a way that’s safe, consensual. What you're doing now is neither, and you're not suggesting this because you actually want it. It seems to me it was all you were taught to expect. So you’re going to pick up your sword, you're going to go home and you're going to think about what I just said. And about who you just propositioned. And then if after everything you still decide you’d like a _mage_ in your bed tonight, leave your door unlocked and I will come to you as soon as it’s dark, and show you how it should be. If your door is locked I'll know you came to your senses and decided to wait for someone you truly want rather than the first one who accepts it, and I won't bring this up again. Is that acceptable?"  
  
Fenris nodded dumbly. Of all the possible outcomes of their conversation, he had not expected this. The other man’s voice was still heavy and thick, as if he were struggling with emotions.  
  
"Say it. Say you won't start offering yourself up for torture to random people as soon as you leave here."  
  
"I will not. I will go home and think on what you said."  
  
The abo... the _healer_ breathed a sigh.  
  
"Good. Pick up your sword and go home, Fenris. I'll be at your door when night falls."


	4. Three

Returning home from the clinic, Fenris spent most of the morning pacing. The abomina... _Anders_ had agreed. He had agreed and yet his capitulation had been nothing like what the elf had expected. He'd thought the mage, the very same one who had been mocking him mercilessly for the past week, would jump at the opportunity to rub in his face that he was so pathetic he was forced to resort to asking an enemy - an ally of his ally, but still an enemy - to have sex. Half of him had just expected Anders to outright refuse and laugh at him; the better part of the other half had thought he’d have to willingly subject himself to all sorts of pain and humiliation; and the tiniest, most hopeful part of himself had expected to be taken roughly and without thought to his comfort, the mage asserting dominance over him at last. That could still happen, he supposed, but it wasn't what the other man had hinted at, with his firm but gentle statement that he'd come to Fenris tonight but only if the elf thought it through and really decided he wanted a mage in his bed. If anyone had told him this was how it would play out he'd have assumed that last line would have been a veiled threat, a promise of pain, but that wasn't at all how it had sounded like. It had simply sounded as if... Maker, this was baffling! It had sounded as if the mage didn't want him to regret what he was offering. So here he was, not even midday and already worn out from pacing, and the sun seemed to be moving backwards in the sky for how slowly time was passing. Night couldn't come fast enough. He wanted this to be over, he wanted to prove Danarius wrong, he wanted... the rest of what he wanted wasn't important. Proving to himself that Danarius had lied, that he was capable of inspiring someone, anyone, to want him no matter for what reason, would unshackle chains that he had managed to ignore were there until Xebenkeck had so sharply brought them to the forefront of his mind.

He had to successfully overcome his training, he realised suddenly. If the way he was reading Anders turned out to be right, if all the mage really wanted was to have a good time and show him a good time in the process, he didn't want his conditioning, his former inability to come without being commanded to, to show through. He wanted to have sex like free men did. Was it really so much to ask?

Another thought crossed his mind just as suddenly: even if Anders was planning on being rough, he could prepare in advance. He could minimise the pain with the gift of time the mage had given him. His mind set, he left the mansion, glad to have a task, simple as it was, to help pass the time. Maybe Solivitus could help him with his problem.

He was right, as it turned out. The apothecary responded to his discreet inquiry by selling him a pot of elfroot based gel that was supposed to ease the passage of... well, _Anders_. It wouldn't prevent tearing like Danarius’ blue green salve had, none of Sol’s little bottled solutions did, but this one, the apothecary had promised, would also mitigate any potential discomfort and facilitate healing afterwards.

After a nerve wracking stop at the Hightown market that had taken up a good portion of his afternoon he had returned home and renewed his pacing, repeating to himself over and over that he was no longer a slave, that he'd be entitled to come without prompt if his body so wished and, finally, during the last hour of clear daylight, had bathed and started to prepare himself physically as well. He'd dressed in a pair of loose white linen trousers and a black button down shirt of the same material, his feet still bare. He'd bought the clothes at the market after his trip to Solivitus - only because he actually needed some new clothes (something that didn't scream ’I was a slave, I hate you all’, Varric had once said), it wasn't as if he had done it especially for that night, of course; the time he'd spent agonising over what clothes to buy was merely a consequence of him not being used to shopping. It was stupid either way, that for a fleeting moment he had thought he could somehow make himself a little less unappealing with different clothes.

But then... night fell at last, and there was no sign of Anders, nor was there any sign of the mage an hour after that, or a second hour after the first. He wasn't coming, Fenris realised with a stab of bitter disappointment, he wasn’t coming and Fenris, in brand new clothes, pacing the floor with his ridiculous wishes and his already prepared ass, was once more the fool.  
He was in the middle of extinguishing the flame in the hearth and resolutely ignoring the burning behind his eyes when he heard the door open and close, felt the footsteps coming his way, heard his too loud heart thundering in his ears. Anders was there. _Anders was there._

When the healer finally came into view, even through the dying light of the fire, Fenris could see that he’d been in a scuffle. His hair was dishevelled, his boot was singed and there was a shallow cut on his left cheek, likely from a dagger, that he hadn't bothered healing yet. On top of that he was slightly out of breath, as if he'd run part of the way.

"Had a run-in with some not-so-friendly neighbourhood bandits or I'd have gotten here sooner," the mage offered, by way of greeting. "Sorry about that. I hope you didn’t think I wasn’t coming. So, I, er... couldn't help but notice that your door was unlocked."

Fenris swallowed, unsure whether the healer was mocking him or if he was, as he appeared to be, somewhat nervous himself.

"Yes," was the only thing he could think to reply.

"So you've thought about this. You're really sure you want me here?"

The elf’s stomach was twisted in knots. This was the moment when everything could change, when Anders could laugh in his face and belittle him. He was asking for it, inviting it even, but he'd risked too much already to back down now.

"Yes," he repeated, "I'm sure."

"Right," Anders said, setting down his staff, his tone overly bright, "ground rules, we need to establish those. Two at least, as far as I'm concerned."

"Ground rules," he echoed dumbly. So this was the catch. Anders had led him to believe he would show him pleasure but, of course, he'd lied. He was going to demand something completely demeaning, and Fenris would comply because, really, what choice did he have when not even Isabela wanted him?

"Rule number one: I don't do anything you don't want me to; rule number two: if I inadvertently end up doing something you don't want me to, you’ll find a way of telling me so that doesn't involve your fist inside my chest. These are non-negotiable. Any rules of your own to add?"

... What? Those were his rules? Where was the catch, the humiliation, the demeaning? Those at least were known quantities, something he’d come to expect. This worrying about his comfort... it left him unsettled.

"I... No. I have no rules to add."

When had Anders managed to come this near without him even noticing it?

"Okay. Then, unless you have any objections, I'm going to kiss you now."

 _Kiss him?_ It was impossible, surely he'd misheard, the healer couldn't have said what he thought he'd heard. Either that or he was getting ready to have a good laugh at his expense, dangling the idea of a kiss in front of him like a carrot, then yanking it at the last minute, and how ridiculous was it that a grown man had never been kissed? And yet his face was coming closer, inch by agonising inch, giving him time to change his mind, to say no (as if he'd ever say no to _this_ ), and if he'd thought his heart had been thundering before it was nothing compared to how loud it was now. Was this really happening? Then for the first time (for the very first time, _Maker_ , he’d stopped dreaming of this so very long ago) lips were brushing his own, warm, slightly chapped, real. He wanted to... Maker, he didn't even know, he wanted to give something back but he didn't know how to do this. Anders didn't seem put off by his lack of skill though, bringing a hand up, caressing his cheek lightly with his knuckles, giving without entrapping. He couldn't be dreaming because his mind would never know how to conjure up such a perfect scenario. His lips tried to mimic the healer’s and he was granted an appreciative hum for his trouble. Fenris felt dizzy with the experience. Even Danarius had never wanted to kiss him, how could Anders?

Something warm and wet was at his lips, gently seeking entrance. Fenris wasn't ignorant, he'd seen other kisses before, between magisters and body slaves, between the Fog Warriors, even at the Rose when Hawke dragged them there on one of her quests, but to be on the receiving end of one... He parted his lips slightly, to allow Anders’ tongue to slide in, tentatively touching his own to the other man’s, hoping against hope his inexperience wouldn’t make the healer call off this night and leave. _Please don’t leave_. This was so much more than he'd thought to have, ever, and it was the mage giving him that, even after all the insults and accusations Fenris had thrown his way over the years... _Please don't leave_.

While his own tongue was tentative and inexperienced, Anders’ was a perfect example of what the apostate’s demeanour had been since they'd talked at the clinic that morning, gentle but firm, exploring languidly but with purpose, drawing Fenris in and allowing him space at the same time.

After what felt like an eternity and yet not long enough - _Maker, not long enough!_ \- the healer ended the kiss and a sound wrenched itself from the back of the elf’s throat, something like a whimper. It was only when he felt the other man’s fingers on his, prying them apart - _gently but firmly, gently but firmly_ \- that he realised he'd been grasping Anders’ coat all that time, so hard his knuckles where white. He let go, his fingers stiff, and Anders kissed them one by one, planting another kiss on his palm, yet another on the inside of his wrist, massaging his hand tenderly, then repeating the process with his other hand, pressing it to his stubble near the dagger cut, showing him he was also allowed to touch, honey brown eyes shining in the near darkness, holding his gaze all the way.

The flame in the hearth was almost truly gone now, a tiny, timid thing he'd tried and failed to completely smother, and then Anders was stepping back from him and towards it, using his magic to rekindle it, nurturing it - _gently but firmly_ -, and the parallel was startlingly clear even while the fire blossomed under the healer’s care, cracking merrily once more, flooding the room with warmth and light.

"You should lock your door," the mage said with a smile, still tending the fire, "Maker knows the lateness of the hour never stops Hawke from barging in unannounced anywhere she pleases whenever the mood strikes her."

Anders was right, of course, and Fenris hurried to comply, glad for the reminder. The last thing he wanted was for anything to jeopardise this night that was fast becoming much more - and _about_ so much more - than he'd ever expected. Xebenkeck’s unwelcome vision had made him so desperate to prove his old master wrong that he had been willing to subject himself to almost anything to achieve it - up to and including propositioning someone he'd thought would use him roughly and never let him forget it, never let him forget he'd gone and begged a _mage_ to take him - but now it was less, so very less, about disproving Danarius, and so much more about simply experiencing this night Anders was willing to offer him.

He approached the healer on unsteady legs, embarrassed now that the fire provided enough light for him to be truly seen, but there seemed to be no disgust in the other man’s gaze as he pulled him in for another kiss, and, _Maker_ , now he'd been kissed _twice_ , two separate memories to hold dear and relive to stave off the pain of his old ones. He felt Anders’ fingers on his shirt, slowly unbuttoning the top button, then the one after that, _gently but firmly_ , such _care_. One more button and the healer’s lips were no longer on his but on the side of his jaw, down his neck, kissing the hollow of his throat, more buttons coming undone under Anders’ skilled hands, his lips trailing a path of fire and want down Fenris’ chest with every kiss. When the last button finally opened the mage reversed the direction of his attentions and kissed his way back up, his hands between the now-open shirt and Fenris’ bare skin, touching, caressing, _gentle but firm_. Then, in a fluid movement, the healer’s hands slid the brand new shirt off the elf’s shoulders and onto the floor, and Fenris couldn't bear to hold the other man’s gaze anymore, couldn't even look at his face, couldn't stand to see the moment when Anders finally looked at his naked torso and realised how hideously deformed he was, lyrium branded everywhere. Closing his eyes didn't prevent him from hearing the apostate’s half suppressed gasp. There would be no more kisses for him, no more touching. He'd be lucky if Anders didn’t simply walk away. _Please don't leave - I'll do anything_.

"Maker, Fenris," the mage whispered breathlessly, and Fenris tried to prepare himself for what came next, "you're _gorgeous_."

His eyes snapped open in pained surprise. He'd been wrong. He'd been lulled into a false sense of security by the other man’s treatment of him so far, fooled by his gentle way into thinking Anders wouldn't mock him; why was he always such a _fool_? He'd always been a poor judge of character, right from the time he'd thought Marcus desired him, tonight was no different. He wanted to say something, anything, but he feared his voice would give him away and he'd break, so he just focused on controlling his breathing, eyes fixed on the wall ahead. If he could just make it through this night then Danarius would be wrong, someone would have at least wanted to bed him enough to actually endure him, even if the purpose was to mock him.

While he was waiting for further humiliation a pair of warm hands found their way onto the sides of his face and held it there, until his only choices were closing his eyes again or actually looking at the honey brown ones in front of him. Closing them would give too much away so he had to look. How could they seem so tender when their owner was being so cruel?

"Fenris, I know that bastard must have done a number on your self-esteem, but I meant what I said. You _are_ gorgeous."

He couldn't hold back the silent tears spilling down his cheeks this time, it hurt too much. One of the hands forcing him to look started caressing instead and, even though he was being mocked, he was so pathetic that he couldn't help but lean into it, one more memory of willing touch to hoard.

"You don't believe me, do you? You think I'm lying to you. Do you have a full length mirror in the house?"  
 __

 _Maker_. That would be the ultimate humiliation, to stand bare chested in front of the mirror while Anders, still fully clothed, mercilessly pointed out each and every one of his flaws, but he couldn't risk displeasing the healer, so he nodded.

"In one of the upstairs rooms."

"Your room?"

"No, not anymore, I moved it."

"Help me get it down here?"  
 __

 _Please, no_. "Yes."

Anders’ mouth was on his again, still incredibly gentle, and here he was once more melting into the kiss, proving to the healer how easily toyed with he could be. Then they were walking up the stairs and into the room where he'd stashed the accursed mirror, covered in a dusty sheet so he didn't have to look at it. He should have just smashed it the first time he’d seen it, but it was too late now and soon it was downstairs, placed at an angle where it would catch the best light from the fire. Then Anders was embracing him from behind, his chin resting on the curve where the elf’s shoulder met his neck, golden eyes capturing tear-filled green ones in the mirror. The healer turned them sideways then and came to stand in front of him, still looking at him in the mirror, hands exploring the planes of his chest, and he was enthralled as surely as if the other man had used blood magic.

"Your chest is defined without being a huge lump of muscles," Anders started, his lips kissing Fenris’ chest as if he meant it, his voice hypnotic, "and I'd have to be blind not to notice the strength beneath your skin. Your skin is tanned but it shows no signs of the ill effects of too much sun - it’s smooth, and hairless and perfect. Your markings... I hate the way they were carved into you, the pain they caused, the memories they took. But they don’t just make you look intimidating to enemies, they display your muscles and compliment them at the same time, they contrast with your skin tone and make you look even more exotic and beautiful than you already are."

Fenris couldn't breathe, transfixed. Even he could not mistake what was in the healer’s eyes in the mirror. Anders _meant_ it. However misguided, however _blind_ that made him, he didn't see him as the pitiful scarred wretch he was, he saw him as desirable. He hadn't been cruel, hadn’t been mocking him at all. Now the other man’s lips and hands were back on the elf’s face, but that gentle exploring no longer caused anguish.

"Your jaw is strong and your lips are smooth, your hair is so soft, and then you have the most incredible eyes I've ever seen."

Anders was behind him again, slightly to his left, undoing his own trousers now, just enough to pull his engorged cock free, jutting out hard and proud.

"This is what you do to me, Fenris, and I haven't even seen the rest of you yet. If I have taunted you, mocked you this past week it was only because the sight of you writhing in pleasure made me go hard and I was embarrassed of wanting someone who hated me, of having given you that power over me. I attacked you to defend myself pre-emptively and I am sorry, so sorry. I wouldn't have if I had known the truth."

Fenris turned sharply, wide eyed, to look at Anders, not wanting the mirror - or anything else, really - to stand in the way of him interacting directly with the mage. He wanted to say something, but words were never his strong suit, and he was woefully inadequate to act in this. He reached for the other man clumsily, grabbing his coat again, and pulled so hard he made the healer crash into him. Anders didn't seem to mind his clumsiness and brought his arms around the elf, one palm flat on the small of his back giving him safety and comfort, the other hand tangling in his hair - somewhat loosely, affording Fenris the ability to free himself easily if he wanted to, as if he knew the warrior would hate to be held helpless - and drawing him yet again into another kiss.

Knowing Anders desired him, actually _desired him_ , had freed something in Fenris. He no longer felt like a puppet this night, someone who should just stay still while events unfolded; _Anders desired him_ \- surely that meant he was allowed to be an active participant in this. His hands found the buckles in the healer’s coat - threadbare, he had never noticed how threadbare it was until now and, unexpectedly, he hated that someone who was giving him so much couldn't afford something nice for himself - and made short work of undoing them. He didn't even bother discarding it on the floor, wanting so badly to feel the other man’s skin that he sort of crawled into the open coat and fit himself there, snug against the mage. Even through their kiss he felt Anders’ smile at that, making him smile in return. Then he brought his hand lower, to grasp the healer’s half exposed cock, making the other man moan his name with need, and it was an incredibly heady sensation to be the one causing that, so he did it again and again. Anders’ eyes twinkled with mischief.

"You like that, do you? Making me say your name? Well, two can play that game."

And, without warning, the mage sunk to his knees, pulled Fenris out of his new trousers - smiling appreciatively at the sight of his erect cock - and swallowed him whole. _Maker_. There was a mage on his knees in front of him sucking his cock. Fenris’ legs refused to support his weight, and he'd have fallen if not for the apostate holding him up, then gently lowering him to sit on the floor. No one had ever done this for him, Maker, he'd never even known it could be anything more than one person being used as just another hole and trying not to gag while the other one took all the pleasure for himself, but that didn't describe what was happening between them at all. He didn't want to be the only one having pleasure, for starters, nor did he want to use the healer’s mouth as a hole to fuck, he didn't want to use the healer at all. Anders seemed to be thoroughly enjoying it, which baffled him, Fenris wanted to give as well as take and, _Maker_ , it was hard to think straight while Anders sucked his cock, while Anders licked him, while Anders kissed and cupped his balls, while Anders placed open mouthed kisses from root to tip - with blown pupils and a smile on his lips - _on. His. Cock_. His entire world had just been reduced to Anders.

After a while the healer stopped lavishing attention on his cock to ask "Do you have something I could stretch on the floor? A blanket, or even a clean rug?"

"A blanket?" he asked stupidly, all his blood flowing downwards and none to his brain if it was so hard to understand a simple word.

"Yes," Anders replied patiently, "so I can stretch it on the floor for us to lie down on. I suppose we could just move this to the bed, if you prefer, but the fire is going nice and strong here, and I'm betting your bedroom is cold."

Bedroom? His legs wouldn't carry him across the room right now, never mind up the stairs.

"A blanket. Yes. Upstairs, in my bedroom. Blankets, sheets, take what you need."

The ability to think was slowly returning to him as he watched the glorious vision that was Anders, coat open and hard cock peeking out of his trousers, merrily making his way up the stairs. He suddenly realised something that shook him to the core: now that he knew, or was in the process of finding out, what sex with the healer was like, he was glad he was the one here and not Isabela, not even Hawke. It wasn't anything so simple as the fact that Anders wanted him when no one else had. Anders treated him in a way that made him feel... he didn't know how it made him feel, he just knew he was so glad it was the healer there and not anyone else. The thought made him happy. He'd had precious few occasions in which to feel it, but he could still recognise the emotion.

When he saw the mage coming down the stairs, arms laden with a pair of sheets and at least four blankets, if he was not mistaken, he had to smile, and he'd never known this could be him, that he was as capable of this light teasing and playful banter as a desirable man was, but Anders made him feel like he could do anything, the words coming easily to his lips.

"Are you sure you’re not missing anything? Maybe the mattress, or perhaps the bed frame?"

"Hush, you. I'll be damned if we’re not comfortable. Now get that pert elvhen arse off the cold floor and help me lay these down instead."

Three blankets were stretched on the floor close to the fire, one on top of the other, and only then did Anders lay down the first sheet. Fenris was about to point out that the healer had it backwards when he realised the blankets were a makeshift mattress - a comfortably high makeshift mattress, that warded off the chill of the floor perfectly - on top of which the two sheets and the fourth blanket went to make a bed, and it was so much like this night was turning out to be, this bed, makeshift, impromptu and borne of necessity but then surprisingly comfortable, a perfect fit.

Anders helped him out of his all but discarded trousers and started getting rid of his boots, making a million and a half buckles seem like child’s play. Then it was Fenris’ turn to help the healer out of his trousers while he shrugged out of the coat and made it into a feathered ball that he lay down on their would-be bed.

"See? Instant pillow!"

Fenris would have smiled at the mage’s childish glee if he wasn't suddenly fully aware that they were both very much naked. It was a strange sensation, to be torn between embarrassed self-awareness and sheer lust. Anders was the one who was gorgeous, a thin dusting of reddish gold hair covering his chest and then going lower, forming a trail, thickening near his cock. He was far too thin, which made sense considering he barely ate any decent food, but still gorgeous. More than once the warrior had caught him sneaking food from his own plate when they all ate at Hawke's into a pocket or two, to give to his patients, but he hadn't cared then, had chosen to believe that Anders, being a mage, would have to have an ulterior motive beyond his selflessness - mages weren't selfless after all, just manipulative. He felt ashamed for having so poorly judged the man who would give him so much.

"I was wrong," he said quietly.

"What about?"

"You. All the times I said you'd do well in Tevinter, that all mages are the same, I was wrong." He put his hand on the cut on the healer’s cheek and caressed it with the pad of his thumb, so bold now with all the confidence Anders had given him. "You'd have been collared on your first day there, and then you’d have tried to free all the slaves of the Imperium on stubbornness alone. You wouldn't have lasted a week. I am sorry that I ever compared you to the magisters."

Anders’ eyes widened before kissing him again, urgently this time. When he finally emerged from their kiss it was just to offer a hoarse "thank you" and continue kissing him, bringing them both down to lie entangled on their sides. Their bodies were touching everywhere, it was one more of a list of sensations Fenris had never experienced before tonight, and he just couldn't get enough. His cock was hard enough to hurt and, judging by the way the healer’s felt when he touched it, he suspected he wasn't much better off.

Anders turned them so he was straddling the elf, hand stroking his lyrium lined cock at a maddeningly slow pace, and Fenris wondered if he was going to take him like that, face to face. He'd quite like that, to look at the other man while they pleasured each other. There was a glint in the mage’s eye that could only mean trouble as he cast a spell that had his fingers coated in a greasy substance, but Fenris sensed it was the good sort of trouble. Anders sat upright on top of him, showing off his fingers, looking mischievous.

"What shall I do with this, do you think?"

He expected an _answer_? Actual coherent speech from his pleasure addled mind?

"Inside... Put them inside..."

"Mmmm, yes, I knew that much. But," he leaned in conspiratorially, "inside _whom_? You? Or... _me_?"

Fenris couldn't help it. The dual hot spikes of want and disbelief that shot through him had him bolting upright, eyes wide as saucers, hands clumsily steadying the healer he'd nearly dislodged. Anders was forced to choose between opening his legs and then closing them around him for balance or toppling backwards, and toppling backwards didn't seem high on his priority list.

"Do you mean that? That you'd let me..." He gestured vaguely in the mage’s direction, not knowing how to voice it.

"I most certainly do. If you’d like that, of course."

He hadn’t thought he'd care this much about what this particular man - this _mage_ \- would like, but he did. He wanted pleasure for both of them, not just for himself.

"And you? Would you like it?"

"Fenris," Anders said, lips so close to his ear it was almost a whisper, "for the record, there is very little we could do tonight that I would not like."

Shivers ran down his spine, his stomach clenching in anticipation.

"Then put them in you. _Please_."

But the healer didn't simply put his fingers inside himself, no. He did it expertly while keeping a running commentary about why he was doing it and how much he wanted the elf inside of him, his words making Fenris’ toes curl in pleasure and his breathing come in ragged pants. Then he pressed lightly on Fenris’ chest, having him lie down on his back, and started manoeuvring to align his own entrance with the elf’s cock.

As soon as the tip of his cock touched Anders’ entrance white hot pleasure, stronger than he'd ever felt, coursed through his veins. His ears were ringing, his eyes rolling into the back of his head, unseeing, and what started as the healer’s name turned into a primal scream that tore itself from his throat as the world tilted on its axis.

It took him a few moments to realise what had happened. He had spilled himself before even entering, had had an orgasm more powerful than anything he could have imagined. Anders had wanted him, had truly wanted him, had, beyond all logic, found him desirable; _gorgeous_ , he'd called him. Fenris had been so taken in by the healer’s delusion that he'd allowed it to become his own self-delusion as well, but the truth was staring him in the face: he was worthless, useless, pathetic. He'd managed to embarrass himself completely, hadn’t managed to be inside the other man even for a second when he'd wanted it more than anything. _Pathetic_. He scrambled to get out from beneath the mage and got on all fours facing the blazing fire - and yet he felt so _cold_ now -, exposing his own entrance. Hot tears of shame and self-hatred ran down his cheeks, but he reached behind to hold himself open with a hand anyway, bracing himself on his forearm on the floor. This at least he was still good for, to just stay still, on all fours like an animal, and _take it_. It was no longer a question of proving Danarius wrong - Fenris himself had done a stellar job of proving why he was nothing to be desired just now - but he hoped the healer might find his ass marginally more appealing than his own hand, he wanted to give him at least that.

"Please. Use me," he sobbed pathetically, "let me be worth at least something."

He felt the other man’s body heat approaching and wished he hadn't prepared himself, even if it had been hours ago, when he’d thought the night would have been over long ago, and far too little of it remained to be of any real help. He wanted it to hurt, punishment for having tricked Anders into thinking he might be worth fucking, he wanted to be in so much pain that he’d forget for a minute that he was worth nothing at all. Words were falling from his lips in a torrent, desperate to be heard.

"Please, you don't have to use your fingers, just use me, I can take it. Use me. Don't leave without fucking me, please. Use me."

An arm wrapped itself around his midsection and another one around his shoulders, pulling him upwards and backwards, flush against the mage’s chest. He didn't know what the healer wanted of him but he let himself be handled. Anders could have him however he pleased after this. Then he was being turned to face the other man and those same arms were wrapping themselves around him, rubbing his back, holding him close while lips kissed his tears away.

"Shhh, Fenris, it's alright. Stop that, it’s alright."

"Use me," he begged again, choked by tears "I'm tight, I can give a little pleasure. Let me be worth that."

"Not like this. No one is using you on my watch, Fenris, you're worth so much more than that. Maker, not like this."

"Please-"

"No. Look at me. _Look. At. Me_."

His chin was tilted up by a curled index finger - _gentle but firm_ \- and he had no choice but to look into honey brown eyes.

"Not like this. It was my fault. I should have gone slower, not thrown so many new things at you at once. I'm sorry - I honestly didn't think something like this happening would hurt you so much or I'd have taken more care to go slower. Please, Fenris, it's alright. No one is using you."

Anders’ tone was so tender it made him feel even sadder to have missed this opportunity. His tears were quieter now, less sobbing and more simply falling. Anders was right, it was alright in the end. He had so many memories worth treasuring now, including this last one of being held safe in his arms, of being comforted even after what had happened. He’d never thought to have them and he did, it was alright. It had to be alright. He'd missed out on the opportunity to see the healer’s face contorted in ecstasy because of him - of _him_ , he could have caused it if he'd not been so pathetic - but he had a treasure trove of other memories from this night. He took a deep breath and willed his tears to stop falling. After everything Anders had given him it was poor form to cling to him like this if the healer wanted to leave badly enough that he wouldn't even allow the elf to attend to his pleasure. Fenris’ seed was still at his entrance, he was probably yearning for a bath. He breathed again and managed to control his tears.

"I'm alright. I’ll be fine. I'm sorry for this, for my outburst, I'll be fine now. You must wish to bathe, I won’t keep you, you can leave."

He wasn't ready for the sudden yet unmistakable flash of hatred he saw in the other man’s eyes for a second, crushing him with its weight, so at odds with the gentle tone he'd heard just now. Anders’ tone was no longer gentle but carefully neutral, with an undercurrent of steel.

"Fenris, I would ask you a favour, if you're willing."

He was probably going to ask him never to bring this night up again. As was his right.

"Of course."

"If you ever decide to stop waiting and go after Danarius, tell me? I’d like to be there when you kill him."

It was so unlike what he was expecting to hear that his head shot up.

"You wish to be there?"

"Yes. I’d like to see him die at least, or help you kill him if you’ll let me." __

 _Maker_. All that hatred hadn't been for him but on his behalf, for Danarius. The pressure in his heart eased considerably.

"I'd be glad for your help."

Anders smiled at him, all gentleness again.

"Thank you."

"No, thank _you_. For everything. I'm sorry I wasn't able to give you a little pleasure."

A tender hand tucked an errant lock of hair behind his ear.

"Fenris?"

"Yes?"

"You’ve given me plenty of pleasure already. But we have all night. I'm not going anywhere tonight unless you’d like me to leave."

"You're _staying_? Why would you want to stay?"

"Why wouldn't I? A roaring fire, a comfortable spot in front of it, a gorgeous man to share it with... I can think of nowhere else I'd rather be tonight."

More tears leaked out, torn between pain, hope and an emotion he was too afraid to name. Why? Why be so gentle, why care for him this way, why stay, why give him anything at all, let alone so much?

The healer was still almost fully hard against his thigh, his neglected erection flagging a bit but still very much present, and yet he made no move to take care of it, almost as if his pleasure was an afterthought.

"But I..." He paused.

"You what?"

"I made a fool out of myself, and you don't even wish to be inside of me, I-"

"Stop! My turn now. First if all, you did not make a fool of yourself, it was my fault. I should have realised that it was too much at once. Second, what happened is no shame. You think it never happened to me, not even once? It happens to everyone - you're just a bit older than usual because you never got the chance to do all the experimenting when most people do. It’s no shame, Fenris. Thirdly, while I know it was just the newness of everything, a part of me can't help but feel flattered that it was with _me_ you lost control - I'm a conceited, presumptuous narcissist, it's one of my many, many talents. And, fourthly, to borrow a phrase from Isabela, _Maker’s golden-pierced cock_ , how can you think I don't want to be inside of you?"

Fenris was slack-jawed until the profanity wrenched a surprised half laugh from him. Had the mage really just told him, in his very unique, very wordy way, that not only was he not disgusted, he was flattered? That he'd get to try again? But...

"But I offered. I offered and you said no."

"I didn't say no, I said not like this. And I’ll say it again if you offer it like that again. Not when you're hurting, not when you put yourself in a position that you feel is submissive because you know nothing else, not when it's not desire or pleasure that move you but shame and pain. Right now I want you so damn much it’s hurting, Fenris, but not like this. I'm very particular about having the people I bed all hot and bothered for me by the time I actually bed them, I'm quirky that way."

The mage actually _winked_ at him, and out of nowhere Fenris found his desire again. Anders had the incredible ability of taking away his shame, of making him feel valued. He'd never known. To think that he'd approached the mage because he thought Anders might hate him enough to get off on hurting him, that he'd believed the mage about to rape him the day before... He brought his hands to the healer’s face and kissed him, taking initiative, showing him he wanted to, and it was _six_ , six kisses now, six kisses all to his own in the same night when before he'd had none. The only reason why he wasn't attempting to penetrate the mage right this moment - _Maker, right this moment!_ \- was because his cock still needed time to recuperate, but his desire needed no such thing. If he still believed, as before, that they’d only get to try one thing tonight he might have waited, saved it for the astonishing opportunity of being the one in control, but Anders had said they had all night. That there was very little he wouldn't like to do with Fenris. It wasn’t about giving pleasure or taking it, it was about sharing it. With _Anders_. He wanted the night to last forever. His hand drifted to the healer’s unattended cock and stroked it slowly, trying to imitate the pace the other man had set for him that had been just so good. His voice was hoarse.

"Have me, then, if you want me. I promise you I want it too. I want to be inside you later, but I want you inside me as well."

Anders must have seen the truth of it when he looked into his eyes, because he shuddered and let out a strangled sound. Fenris’ hand was pulled away gently by a shaking one.

"Fenris, remember when I told you it happened to everyone? Grey Warden or not, it’s going to happen to me if you keep that up."

The elf felt a swell of pride at giving so much pleasure - something he'd never thought to feel outside the context of his life as a slave - and now he understood why Anders had said he'd been flattered.

"Are you completely sure? Remember rule number one? I don't do anything you don't want me to."

"I want to. Can we do it in a way that I can look at you?"

"Maker, _yes_."

The healer laid him down gently once more, until the elf was flat on his back, his head resting comfortably on the not-quite-pillow, and then crawled down his body, past his spent cock, and held his legs open like a feast, a predatory grin on his face, nearly bending him in half. He'd thought Anders would prepare him with his fingers and his grease trick, but what happened was something else entirely. Suddenly and without warning the healer’s face disappeared from view and a tongue, warm and wet, was at his entrance, licking his ring with broad strokes, _Maker_ , going inside, maddening but not enough - and just as suddenly as it had started it was over, the mage’s face coming back into view, eyebrows furrowed in puzzlement.

"Fenris?"

"Yes?"

"Why does your arse taste like elfroot?"

Fenris was aware of the twin spots of colour forming high in his cheeks.

"I... prepared. After I bathed. I wasn't sure what to expect."

There was a twinge of sadness in Anders’ tone when he replied.

"You weren’t sure if I was going to hurt you and not give a damn."

"I... Yes."

He could see it in the other man’s face, the moment when Anders decided it didn't matter that Fenris had thought that of him, as long as he didn't think it now. It started as a little shake of his shoulders that grew until Anders was laughing heartily, almost uncontrollably, and the warrior couldn't figure out why until he heard him say "So now I get to lick the only arsehole with addictive properties in the whole of Thedas" and Fenris was laughing too, Anders’ mirth infectious. And then the laughter subsided and Anders’ tongue was on him again, so much pleasure, he'd only ever been on the other side- That thought stopped the tide of pleasure as if a bucket of ice had just been poured on him and he pushed on the healer’s head urgently with a plea.

"No, please. Stop."

The mage stopped his ministrations immediately, his face resurfacing with a worried look.

"Fenris? I'm sorry, I didn't think you'd not like this. I'm sorry."

"I have no wish to humiliate you. I won't take my pleasure at your expense any more than you accepted taking yours at mine."

Anders had that look again, something that was more than tenderness but that Fenris didn't know how to name because no one had ever looked at him like that, and his voice was heavy once more and yet soft at the same time.

"Is that what you think? That this is humiliating for me? Licking your very desirable, very clean arse?"

"You can't possibly desire that. I- I've done that. There’s no pleasure for the one using his tongue, no matter how clean the other is. It's degrading."

Anders’ eyes were a strange mix of softness and fire when he replied.

"You’re worried about _me_." It was a statement, but there was a disbelieving note to it. " _Fenris_. It's only degrading when you're being forced into it. I want to. There's no part of your skin that it wouldn't give me pleasure to use my mouth on. I'll lick and suck and kiss every inch of you that you’ll allow me to. So if you don't want me to do this I won't, but, Maker, not because you think it's degrading for me when I want to so damn much."

The healer’s words sent a jolt right through his cock. ’ _There's no part of your skin that it wouldn't give me pleasure to use my mouth on. I'll lick and suck and kiss every inch of you that you’ll allow me to._ ’ Had he accepted Xebenkeck’s bargain after all? Was his body still in Darktown, his companions dead all around him, his mind trapped in this impossible dream where he was accepted, desired, cherished? Would he be able to tell the difference? He took solace in the fact that it was Anders, and not Hawke, here with him. Xebenkeck could not have given him what he hadn’t yet even thought he could wish for at the time. This night was real, and it was theirs. Demons had no hold here, neither Fade nor personal ones - Anders had banished them all.

He nodded his assent then, whispered words of encouragement and desire pouring out of him while the healer’s tongue licked his hole, his balls, his over sensitised cock, sensations he'd never thought anyone could feel, his cock hardening again so soon after his orgasm, as if he'd been dosed with a lust potion. One slick finger entered him carefully, followed by a second one as soon as he was ready, and then - _oh, Maker!_ \- a spot inside of him that he hadn't known existed was being touched, prodded, teased. He was fully hard in minutes. Anders lifted his head, mischievous smile back on his swollen lips, hair all over his obscenely wanton face (for _him_ , no one had ever looked that way for _him_ ), let go of his legs and squeezed his cock playfully, his words making Fenris think this might have been his plan all along.

"I think _someone_ is ready to go through with our original plan. Shall I?"

"Yes," he moaned. _Maker, yes_.

And then finally - _finally!_ \- Anders was grasping his lyrium lined cock, hand a little too tight at the base, in a way that Fenris suspected would not have allowed him to embarrass himself if the urge overtook him, and sank onto him, inch by maddening inch, and, oh, Maker, it was so tight, so hot, so _good_. The healer let go of the base of his cock and descended the rest of the way with a moan. There were tears in Fenris’ eyes and he didn't even know why, but it might be related to the fact that he'd forgotten how to breathe, which wasn't good, he'd have to remember how to breathe if he wanted to be awake to feel this. Anders held himself very still, sheathing him completely, and his ass was brushing Fenris’ balls, and-

"Breathe." The healer’s soft voice was an anchor in the middle of the tempest, soothing, allowing him to centre himself enough to set a pace, something between this maddening stillness and the erratic thrusts he would have otherwise given. It was bliss, completion, perfection. And it was _his_. He took Anders’ cock in his hand, smeared the drops of clear liquid peeking out of it all over its head, and somehow found the presence of mind to stroke it in time with his thrusts, his hand sure but far gentler than he’d ever been with his own cock because he wanted - needed - to give back at least a little of all the pleasure he was taking. He was never going to last long, this first time, but the healer didn't seem to expect him to. He could barely discern the honey brown of Anders’ eyes now, arousal darkening them almost completely - because of _him_ , Maker, all because of _him_ \- and his lover (his _lover!_ ) was breathing harshly, his voice ragged and breathless where it had been all softness before.

"Maker, Fenris, I’ve been holding out for you, but I can't much longer, please, I can't."

It was a fleeting thought, Danarius no longer warranting more than the beginnings of a question, soon eclipsed by the strength of his orgasm and the beautiful sight of Anders coming because of him, but he couldn't help but wonder, had the healer known? Had he known that this was the best way to tell him to let go, that if it had been Anders telling him ’Come for me, Fenris’, the way Danarius used to say it, something inside of him would have been broken beyond repair, crushed into sand where Danarius had only managed to batter and bruise? Then the question was gone and there was only the two of them, sweaty and sated, still joined, and Anders bending impossibly while still keeping him inside, leaning down for a kiss.

The rest of their night together was something Fenris could never quite describe, even to himself. There were words, and pleasure, and laughter, traded back and forth so many times in front of the fire until they didn't know who each belonged to, and it didn't matter because every one of them was _theirs_. There was a shared bath, the water warm from Anders’ magic, the too small tub forcing them even closer together, breath and lips and tongues intermingling. There was a shared meal, put together from mouldy cheese, warm wine and day-old bread, that tasted like the finest delicacy he'd ever eaten. There was Anders inside of him - and, _oh_ , this pleasure could exist without pain or shame -, there was him inside of Anders again - still so tight, still so _good_ -, there was his name on the healer’s lips, shouted with passion one time, whispered with reverence the next, there were touches and glimpses and tenderness. There was Anders kissing him, holding him, wrapping him up in a cocoon of warmth, safety and caring that made his heart ache for the other man. There was falling asleep, body and mind exhausted but whole for the first time in his life, there was a heartbeat not his own that was comforting instead of oppressive with its presence, there were warm arms, that protected but didn't trap, around him. There was happiness and something else, something that tasted like a promise and smelled like freedom.

 

 

Wishing for forever didn’t make it so and, when he woke up, the night had ended and it was morning, the fire having long since died in the hearth. The healer was awake already, propped up on his elbow, looking at him with a rueful smile.

"Good morning. Almost afternoon, really - I should have opened the clinic over three hours ago, but I didn't want to leave before you woke up."

"I- you could have woken me."

"And ruin my excuse for a perfectly good lie-in? You wound me, serah."

Fenris smiled back. Anders had been watching him for some time now if the reddish skin around the elbow he was propped up on was any indication.

"My humblest apologies then - I'll go right back to sleep in penitence."

The healer laughed but sat up, extricating himself from the sweaty mess of blankets, sheets and Fenris.

"Don't tempt me. Patients won't heal themselves after all, and I've been terribly irresponsible already."

Fenris got up as well and quickly put on his new shirt and pants, self-conscious. Anders had no such modesty and paraded through the living room, completely naked, searching for his hair tie in every nook and cranny he could think of before finally giving up and running his fingers through his hair. He had more complicated clothes than Fenris, and even though he was as deft at putting them on as he was at taking them off, it still took him a little while. Fenris took the opportunity to just watch the other man for a little while longer, mustering up the nerve to _think_ what he was feeling, so he might come to speak it.

To think last night had started out as something Danarius had caused, however indirectly, was almost enough to make him laugh. The magister didn't matter anymore, only this mage before him, this mage who had managed, in the space of a single night, to fill his heart as thoroughly as his bed. Anders was almost finished getting dressed and his chance to say something would pass soon, he had to risk it, had to try.

"Will you come back tonight?" It was said more bluntly than he had hoped, no grace or finesse, but he had feared his courage would desert him if he didn't do this now, and now it was out there, bigger than him, bigger than them both. The healer turned to look at him, a wistful look in his eyes, and shook his head minutely, his voice kind.

"No, Fenris. I won't come back."

His heart fell. He'd never been the best judge of character, but for a moment he’d thought... It wasn't that he'd wanted someone to want him anymore. He'd wanted _Anders_ to want him, to fill his heart with more nights like this, but it had been an impossible dream, that a man such as this could ever be his for more than a night. Anders came closer, placed a hand on his cheek and kissed him deeply, bittersweet. When the healer drew back, to look him in the eyes, his own seemed to reflect his longing. It had to be a trick of the light - if he felt the same he'd stay, surely? The hand stayed on his cheek, not quite caressing, just a comforting pressure, simply there. His voice had a faraway quality to it.

"It would be so easy for me to keep coming back. When I was in the Circle I drove everyone - from the First Enchanter to the Knight Commander - mad every time I ran away, and I ran seven times. Once they thought I'd learn my lesson if they put me in solitary, so they did. A year. For the first three months they kept me in total darkness, Silenced the entire time, slid my meals trough an opening too small for me to see anything at all, and no one came, no one spoke. I thought I’d go mad. I raged, I cried, I screamed. I pleaded for them to kill me. Being Silenced meant I couldn't dream - it was just me, in the darkness, alone with my thoughts and fears for three months. When four Templars came, after those three months, and made it clear they’d talk to me, acknowledge my existence if I pleasured them, I was ready to do anything and call it a blessing. For nine months that’s exactly what I did. I was still Silenced and in darkness, but there were people, these Templars, that confirmed I was real. It was more than enough for me to think I wanted what was being done to me.

"Last night I could justify coming here with the fact that not only did I want it, but you needed it. You were ready to put yourself in the hands of anyone who was so inclined, anyone who could take advantage, and I told myself I was the lesser evil, that even though I wanted it so much I wasn't as much taking advantage of you as I was showing you something you needed to see. I can still almost believe it - I can live with what we've done last night, at the very least.

"You’ve been Silenced and in the dark all your life. I will not become your Templar jailer by coming back here. It's time for you to be free. Fall in love, have your heart broken the first time, break someone else’s heart, do it enough times until you find someone worth keeping." A tear slid down the healer's cheek, over the dagger cut he still hadn't bothered healing, and his eyes were shining with so many more he refused to shed. "If you do that, if you live your life free, then I won't have lied to myself. I'll have done more good than harm. And if, after you’ve done all that, in two or three, or four years, in a _decade_ , if you still feel like inviting me back, you know where the clinic is. You know you can come in even when the lantern isn't lit."

A final kiss, aching and longing so deep within him that he thought he'd never be able to breathe again, and a second tear had rolled down the healer’s face, his hand now gone from the elf’s cheek, his smile sad.

"Goodbye, Fenris. I’ll see you around."

And, while Fenris grasped in his mind for words that would make him stay, Anders turned and left, his footsteps heavy in the morning light.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] Loveless](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11255427) by [BabelGhoti (TheHandmadeTale)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHandmadeTale/pseuds/BabelGhoti)




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